At her words, the trees of the glade seemed to sigh, though whether in sadness or triumph, Araloth couldn’t say. Nor did he wish to guess. The forest had a mind of its own, one that no elf could attempt to fathom, not if they wished to remain sane.
Durthu receded back into his place. Having said his piece, the Eldest of Ancients had fallen silent. The bargain had been struck, and there was nothing more to be said. The Council was quick to act. One of them stood and met Araloth’s gaze. ‘You heard?’ he asked.
‘I did,’ Araloth said. He knew what was coming next, for it was the only reason that he would have been summoned to witness what had just occurred.
‘You, Lord of Talsyn, and champion of the Mage Queen, will assemble a host to pierce black Sylvania, and lend our cousins aid in their rescue attempt.’
‘I will,’ Araloth said, simply. Nothing more needed to be said. His mind was already hard at work on the logistics of such an undertaking. Axe Bite Pass would be the quickest route. They would head north, through Parravon. There would be dangers aplenty, but he had little doubt that it could be done. He would request volunteers. He would not order any to follow him into such a place.
The chains of vines and leaves fell from the Everqueen as the audience ended. Two of the Mage Queen’s handmaidens, Naestra and Arahan, waited to take Alarielle to the place of reckoning, where her part of the bargain, whatever it was, would be fulfilled. Araloth did not envy her the task to come. She glanced at the handmaidens, and then strode towards him. ‘My daughter,’ she said.
‘I will do all that it is in my power to do for her,’ he said quietly.
‘As will I,’ she said, looking into his eyes. She took his hand and squeezed it. He felt a shock as something passed between them. When she released his hand, he saw that she had pressed a locket into his palm. He looked at her questioningly.
‘It will lead you to my daughter,’ she said. ‘Let us hope, for the sakes of those we love, that you reach her in time.’
EIGHT
Mannfred felt a hum of satisfaction ripple through him as he watched Arkhan take in the room, and its treasures. There, the lecterns that held the damned tomes of Nagash. Nine, now, rather than the seven they had been, thanks to Arkhan.
And amidst them sat the Crown of Sorcery, pulsing softly with its weird light. Arkhan stood before the crown, and reached out a hand. Mannfred was possessed by a sudden urge to rip him away from it, but he wrestled the feeling down. It would not do to start a fight. Not now.
From above, the vargheists growled warningly. They hissed and snarled as the liche ran his fingers over the crown, but fell silent at Mannfred’s gesture. Arkhan traced the wicked iron points that topped Nagash’s crown, and then let his hand drop. He did not look at Mannfred when he said, ‘You have the Claw as well.’ It wasn’t a question.
Mannfred crossed his arms and smirked. ‘Indeed.’
‘Where?’
‘Not here,’ Mannfred said.
Arkhan turned. ‘Even now, you do not trust me.’ The liche cocked his head. ‘You are wise, in your generation.’ He turned towards the prisoners. ‘I thought you enjoyed their escape attempts. Why torture them?’
The prisoners hung in their chains, broken and beaten. They stank of death now, as much as anything else in the castle. Their flesh had been gouged and burned and flayed, and all remaining armour had been stripped from those who wore it. They had been crippled and hobbled, and hovered on the brink of death. Only Mannfred’s sorcerous artifice kept them from tipping over entirely into the void. Mannfred strode past Arkhan and wrenched up Volkmar’s head. Of the nine, only the old man and Aliathra were still conscious. The vampire looked at the elf woman. Her eyes were closed, but her lips moved silently. He wondered whether she, like the nature priest, had slipped at last into madness. Or worse, into damnation like Morgiana.
Volkmar glared defiantly up at him with exhausted, pain-clouded eyes. Mannfred leaned close, drinking in his captive’s pain and helplessness. ‘Because the time for games is done. If you can do as you claimed, then it is time to put away childish things and get to work,’ he said, staring at Volkmar. He leaned close to the old man. ‘Don’t you agree, Volkmar? Aren’t you tired of this never-ending game of ours? Don’t you want to see it end, finally, once and for all?’
Volkmar hawked a gobbet of bloody spittle into Mannfred’s face. Mannfred released the old man’s head and stepped back. He wiped the spittle from his face and smiled. He felt no anger at the gesture. It was nothing more than the defiance of a peasant on the block. He looked at Arkhan and gestured. ‘Well – I allowed you in here for a reason, liche. Tell me… Which one?’
Arkhan picked his way carefully across the blood-stained floor, and he gazed at each of the nine in turn. His hell-spark eyes lingered on the elf woman for a moment, and Mannfred felt himself tense, though he could not say why. Arkhan motioned to the unconscious form of the Myrmidian knight, Blaze. ‘You were correct, earlier. This one. His blood is powerful, but not as much as that of the others. It is diluted, and thus perfect for our purposes.’
Mannfred nodded slightly. ‘As I suspected.’
‘You have already assembled much of what is required. But we still lack three things.’ Arkhan turned. ‘Three items tied to the Great Necromancer’s death. All lie within reach of Sylvania, and all require but the proper application of force to acquire. Neither guile nor cunning will be necessary. Luckily for you,’ Arkhan said.
Mannfred twitched. He closed his eyes and fought to control his temper. Arkhan was baiting him, but he would not give the liche the satisfaction. ‘I know all of this, you black-toothed hank of gristle. What I do not know is how you intend to help me acquire them.’
‘I told you – the secret is in the blood,’ Arkhan said, motioning to the floor. ‘The true question is, how are we to divide the work to come?’
Mannfred ran his hands over his bare head. ‘Ah, well, there I think is my contribution. Before your – ah – timely arrival, I was already concocting stratagems for that very purpose. Heldenhame is too obvious a target, and too close. If we strike there first, our enemies will surely know that we have escaped the cage they made for me. For us,’ Mannfred said. ‘I suggest we divide our forces. You came close to acquiring Nagash’s staff, Alakanash, from La Maisontaal Abbey once… Best you succeed this time.’
Arkhan didn’t react to his dig. ‘And the Fellblade?’
‘Not far from here, as you said. My spies have brought word that it is in the possession of the skaven somewhere in Mad Dog Pass, as you yourself are likely already aware.’
Arkhan inclined his head. ‘And you will acquire it?’
‘I will.’ Mannfred gestured down at the map. ‘We will depart via the western border, I think. It will give you the quickest path into Bretonnia, and me the quickest into the Border Princes. Speed is of the essence, but it will still take us most of the year. I suggest that we save Heldenhame for our coming out party, as it were.’
Arkhan looked down at the map. He looked up. ‘Agreed. It will take me some time to prepare. A few days, no more than that.’